


Night Terrors

by moboe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Spoilers to Season Eight, fallen!cas, fluff near the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-06
Updated: 2013-07-06
Packaged: 2017-12-17 21:01:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/871911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moboe/pseuds/moboe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the first month of Castiel's humanity, every night he sleeps, he has nightmares. After that month, he stops sleeping.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Night Terrors

Castiel had nightmares. Ever since The Fall (which is what the Winchesters and himself had taken to calling it), every night, Castiel would drift off into sleep, only to awaken two or three hours later drenched in sweat. Screaming. Thrashing. 

Usually, he dreamt of a time after The Fall, when the fallen angels crowded around him, asking and desperately pleading for him to tell them why he had done it. Why would he push them out of their homes? Eventually, the angels would get panicked and violent, and begin to rip Castiel apart, demanding answers. Castiel never had any. He had trusted Metatron, and Metatron had used that trust against him. Occasionally he dreamt of that—Metatron coming back and ordering Castiel to return, or to give him more of something he obviously hadn’t gotten enough of when he’d stolen the angel’s Grace.

Sometimes, though, it was even worse than that. Every so often, Castiel would dream of Dean. Specifically, Dean dying. This wouldn’t be so difficult to handle, of course, if the dreams weren’t so vivid. Every time Castiel would experience one of these nightmares, he would wake up, and for at least a quarter of an hour, be confused and disoriented. These were the nights that Castiel screamed the loudest, fought the hardest, cried the longest. 

The first time Castiel had one of these dreams, was the first night after The Fall. Dean had given him a room to sleep in (right across the hall from his own), and told him to rest. Castiel had swayed on his feet, obviously exhausted, and once he lay down, succumbed to unconsciousness within a matter of seconds. It wasn’t long after that that Castiel began to dream. The dream was not anything special, just him and Dean riding in the Impala (for once, Castiel was in the front seat), but soon that changed. Dean took one moment to glance from the road over to Castiel, his eyes glistening inquisitively, and they got hit. 

It was then that Castiel realized the weight of what had happened to him. Dean and Castiel were in a car crash. Dean was hurt— _Dean was dying_ —and the only thing that could save him was Grace. Castiel had none. He tried frantically to help him, pressing his fingers to his forehead once he had climbed out of the twisted metal that had once been the Impala and managed to lift Dean out as well. He did everything he knew how, but nothing could save Dean Winchester. Not even Castiel, former Angel of the Lord. 

Dean died with a shallow outtake of breath, and Castiel screamed. He screamed for a long time, pounding his fists into the pavement of the road. Dean’s lifeless eyes stared up at him in accusation. _Why couldn’t you save me?_ Castiel heard a sob escape his lips, and he didn’t try to stop the next one from clawing out of his throat.

He awoke moments later, an unknown force shaking him and calling his name. “Cas. _Cas!"_ The voice sounded all too familiar, but Castiel refused to believe. When his eyes shot open, though, his breath scraping through his lungs and his heart beating so wildly it seemed without rhythm, Castiel saw what he had refused to believe. Dean Winchester. Alive. Well.

“Cas, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”

Castiel stared feverishly at the man in front of him, his mouth refusing to form words. This was impossible. He had just witnessed Dean dying, less than ten minutes ago. Was this some kind of demon? Illusion? 

“Cas, _look at me,_ ” Dean commanded, and Castiel did. He blinked a few times and released the grip on the sheets he hadn’t known he’d had. His breathing slowed fractionally, and he absently noted that his cheeks were wet, but he wasn’t bleeding and it wasn’t raining. 

“What happened?” Dean asked quietly, worry apparent in his eyes.

Cas swallowed audibly, and then choked out (as if he were having a revelation), “Dean.”

“Yeah, of course. Who else?”

“But—but that’s not possible,” Castiel insisted. “You…you were dying.” He paused, closing his eyes and seeing Dean’s dead face. “You were _dead._ ” With the last word, Castiel’s voice broke once again and his eyes snapped open.

Suddenly recognition lit up in all of Dean’s features, and his expression softened. “You were just having a nightmare, Cas.”

“ _No,_ ” Castiel responded adamantly. “It couldn’t have been, Dean—you were… It was so real.” Of course, all evidence pointed to Dean being correct and Castiel being the opposite. The biggest piece being that Dean was standing right in front of him.

Dean sat down on the edge of the bed, grabbing Castiel’s hand and pressing it against his cheek. “Cas. I promise you, it was just a dream. I’m okay.” As if to prove the point, he pressed his lips into the palm of Castiel’s hand. Almost immediately, Castiel relaxed. 

“Alright,” Castiel sighed after a long moment. “Okay.”

Dean dropped Castiel’s hand and smiled softly, in a way that seemed more sad than happy. He leaned down, and for a brief moment, pressed a kiss into Castiel’s hairline before standing again. “Try to get some sleep, okay?” Dean whispered, backing out of the room. Castiel only nodded. 

An hour later, Dean awoke to the sounds of shouts and Sam trying desperately to calm Castiel. 

*

The nightmares became so bad, that at some point, Castiel just stopped sleeping. He avoided it at every cost, and once he became tired, he went outside and ran. Sometimes it was early in the morning, four or five o’clock, and sometimes it was in the afternoon, anywhere from five to ten. The Dean dreams were less likely to take place, but the angel dreams were bad enough. Castiel slept every night for over a month (if you could call it sleeping). The week after Independence Day, Castiel gave up.

Surprisingly enough, Castiel got through an entire week of no sleep. He was nearing the end of the eighth day when he exhaustedly collapsed in the hallway. Dean found him a few minutes later, feeling suspicious about the crash he had heard, and quickly got to Cas’ side, shaking him. 

“Cas? Cas, are you okay?” 

When Dean turned the fallen angel over, he examined his face after making sure he was breathing. The dark circles under his eyes were a sharp purple, sticking out against his pale skin. His eyes were swollen, and his lips were chapped, his face gaunt. 

In short, Cas looked like shit.

Carefully, Dean picked Castiel up, cradling the shorter man’s body close to his own, and carried him to his own room, where he laid him down on the bed and let him rest. He watched for a moment and then left, feeling hypocritical watching Cas sleep when he had complained for years about the angel doing the same thing.

No less than an hour-and-a-half later, he heard screaming coming from his room. Dean rushed toward the sound of the screams, and once he found Castiel, writhing in his bed and his mouth gaping to let out a roaring scream, he shook him awake. It was the only thing he knew to do.

“Dean,” Castiel sobbed immediately, not even bothering to look up at the man who had woken him up. “I’m so sorry, Sam, I couldn’t save him—he just—”

Castiel was sitting up in bed, and he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, taking a few shaky breaths before whispering, “Please don’t hate me, Sam. You…you’re the only one I have left.”

Dean allowed Castiel a few more hitched breaths before laying a hand gently on his shoulder. Castiel jumped, ripping his hands from his eyes and staring at Dean with such surprise and awe that Dean’s heart broke a little. “Cas,” he murmured, “I’m okay.”

Castiel just stared, seemingly searching Dean’s face for any evidence that he wasn’t the real thing. His eyes were dubious and his eyebrows were drawn together in confusion. Eventually, recognition dawned in his eyes, and he looked down at his hands in his lap, seemingly ashamed. 

“Why do you keep me around, Dean?” he asked in a nearly-inaudible whisper.

Now it was Dean’s turn to look confused. “What? What do you mean?”

“I’m of no use to either of you any longer. I can’t save you. I’m useless. Why haven’t you thrown me away yet?” Now Cas lifted his eyes to Dean’s face. They were clouded with sadness and self-depreciation—and something that looked like fear. 

Castiel was afraid Dean was going to realize he was right and throw him out. Which, really, could never happen. 

“Do you think that’s why I kept you around? Because you were useful to me?” Dean asked, his tone letting on a little bit more hurt than he had initially intended.

“I can see no other reason.”

Dean had to stop himself from scoffing. “Cas, I didn’t keep you around because you were ‘useful’—although, I won’t lie, it was an added bonus. I kept you around because I…” Dean paused, searching for the right words. “Because you’re my best friend. Because I need you, no matter if you can fly or use your angel mojo. I don’t think you’re useless, either, Cas.”

Castiel drew his lips into a thin line, but didn’t say anything else. He looked drained—the fatigue in his features settling in once more now that the adrenaline from the dream had worn off. But it was obvious Castiel had made no plans of sleeping when he threw his legs over the side of the bed and stood, swaying and feeling his knees buckle. He reached out for Dean, grabbing onto his shoulder to keep himself upright. Once he’d steadied himself, he let go of Dean’s shoulder and stumbled away.

He went outside and ran.

*

That night, around two am, Dean was unsurprised to hear whimpers echoing down the hall. That was always how they started, after all—just whimpers, which eventually turned to protests, which sooner or later morphed into screams of terror. (Although he was surprised Cas was sleeping. He had seemed adamant about staying awake only a few hours earlier. Apparently, sleep had won over.) But this time, it was different. This time, Dean had decided he was going to stop it before it happened. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, standing and nearly tripping over himself as he made his way out of the room. 

He padded near-silently down the hallway and to Cas’ door, which was always closed. Probably in an attempt to muffle the screams he would inevitably make. Without knocking, he pushed the door open, a sliver of light falling across the floor and landing on a twitching Castiel, shifting restlessly in his sleep. He stepped on the balls of his feet in a mock attempt to make sure Castiel stayed asleep (he knew for a fact it would take more than the groaning screeches of the damned to wake Cas—he’d proven it several times before), and without really knowing why, stepped around the bed to the side that wasn’t occupied. Before he caught up to his subconscious, he was slipping in between the sheets on Castiel’s bed and wrapping an arm around the ex-angel’s middle.

Immediately, Castiel stiffened, but when Dean murmured into his ear, “Shh, it’s okay, it’s me,” he relaxed almost instantaneously. He pressed his back against Dean’s chest, almost in a protective way. Dean laid awake long enough to make sure nothing was coming back for Castiel, and then brushed his hand through the shorter man’s hair, trying to sooth away any terrors that might come for Castiel while Dean was asleep. 

Because that was what he was doing, wasn’t it? Sleeping with Castiel—in the most literal sense. Dean chose not to contemplate that, and, hoping Castiel wouldn’t be pissed when he woke up and found Dean curled around him, softly drifted off to sleep. 

Castiel wasn’t pissed when he woke up. In fact, he was the happiest he’d been in days. And the next night, he didn’t even have to ask before he stumbled into Dean’s room and slipped under the sheets, snuggling into Dean’s side for the night (and the next; and the next).


End file.
